Creating Art in Small Windows: Art Practice for Busy Professionals

Life is filled with meetings, deadlines, and service. Waiting for “free time” often keeps art postponed.

Finally, I found time to write this blog. To be honest, I didn’t feel like working anymore. I had just arrived from a training event, and lying down on my bed felt more appealing than having dinner. I grabbed a sandwich that was supposed to be my afternoon snack, but since I was still full, I decided to “Sharon” it—hehehe.

While resting, I opened my Google Drive and came across a video I took while practicing how to draw Keanu Reeves, my favorite actor. The original video was almost an hour long, but I sped it up. When I started sketching, I told myself I would only draw for thirty minutes or less—just practice. But once I began, I found myself wanting to improve every line. I may not have perfected it, but I spent time practicing—and that mattered.

That moment made me pause.

My life as an academy manager is constantly filled with meetings, deadlines, and service. Waiting for free time feels almost impossible. By the end of the day, I am exhausted—thankfully enough to sleep well—but I miss the precious time spent recharging through creativity.

The Myth of Free Time

This is where I realized something important.

Busy professionals often delay creativity. We rush to work, aiming to finish tasks efficiently, hoping that later we will finally have time for ourselves. Creativity is set aside because our regular jobs feed us.

Truthfully, if I focus solely on art, I don’t think I can earn what I currently receive from my regular work. And yet, art is what makes me happy.

From an art therapy perspective, creativity is not a reward—it is maintenance.
(This is not formal art therapy, but a personal practice inspired by its principles.)

When I create, I unwind and enter a state of flow. My horizon widens, and I feel emotionally and mentally balanced. While creating, I forget problems and life’s pressures. In art, there is no politics, no angst—only self-expression. It elevates my awareness of myself and the world around me.

I often describe creativity as vitamins for the soul. When I am stressed, my breathing becomes shallow and tight. But when I create, the tension in my chest and neck eases, and my mind clears.

That was when I stopped waiting for free time.

Small Windows That Matter

I forced myself—gently—to pick up my pencil and sketchbook for a 15–30 minute art session. That short session counted as practice. And when done regularly, even brief sessions lead to improvement.

Consistency matters—whether one is an amateur or an aspiring master. Just as athletes prepare daily for competition, artists must find time to practice their craft. There is no shortcut if we truly want to grow.

Below is a sped-up sketching video I made during one of these short practice sessions. It is not perfect—but it shows what can happen within a small window of time when we simply begin.

Managing Guilt When Choosing Art

I once heard my father—who is also an artist—say that art cannot pay for living expenses. That may have been true before. Today, art is a serious profession and not merely a hobby.

Still, productivity culture convinces us that work alone defines value—even when we are not fulfilled by it. But when we do what we truly love, work no longer feels heavy; it becomes meaningful.

Art and craft-making are emotionally regulating activities. If we want to be genuinely productive, we must make time for what brings joy and contentment. That is how sustainability in work begins.

This shift in mindset helped me release guilt. Choosing art was no longer indulgence—it became self-care.

Practical Ways to Create in Small Windows

Here is what worked for me.

I developed the habit of watching short reels about drawing, painting, crocheting, or even flower-making during lunch breaks. These small exposures motivate me to pick up my tools after a long day.

I also identified consistent windows in my day for a 15–30 minute uninterrupted art activity. For me, 5:00 a.m. and around 7:30 p.m. work best.

Early mornings are quiet—my laptop stays closed, distractions are minimized, and I can create before the workday begins. In the evening, if I still have energy, creating helps me release it before rest. You may discover a different time that works better for you. What matters is choosing a window with less pressure.

Finally...

I shared a sketching video to show that art doesn't have to be perfect. If we never try, how will we know where we need to improve?

If you are busy, tired, or overwhelmed, I invite you to consider this:

What would happen if you allowed yourself just fifteen minutes of creative space today?

I hope these reflections help you find—and protect—your own small windows for creativity.

Lessons from the Canvas 2-- Art as Healing: Reflections on Art Therapy, Creativity, and Everyday Life

The Orbs: Learning from What Refuses to Settle

Unfinished Truths and Emotional Density in Art

The Orbs were created in January 2022, during the post-pandemic period. It was a time when restrictions had finally eased, and I could once again return to creating art. There was relief in that freedom—but also a heaviness that lingered.

The lessons of isolation, being on your own during the ECQ, and learning to truly value life were still very present in my heart and mind. I carried those experiences with me into the studio, whether I intended to or not.

The process itself was intuitive. I created the orbs by pushing a balloon onto wet paint—allowing chance, pressure, and movement to determine their form. I mixed gold paint with acrylic medium so it could flow more freely, then softened it with white paint so the gold would not feel too heavy.

Later, I painted a woman holding a golden apple and reaching toward a book—the Bible. For me, the golden apples represent the Word of God. They were what sustained me during those trying times. They were what helped me hold on to life when everything felt uncertain.

At the time, I did not overthink the composition. I painted from what was still unresolved.

A Gentle Reading of The Orbs

What immediately stands out to me now is movement. The central figure feels suspended—reaching forward, yet not fully grounded. There is a strong diagonal pull from left to right, suggesting longing, effort, and aspiration. Looking back, that reaching feels deeply personal. I was moving forward, but still carrying the weight of what had just passed.

What once felt “wrong” to me about this painting was not a technical error, but something harder to name. It was visual congestion.

The orbs, textures, splatters, and gold elements are all active. Individually, they are meaningful. Together, they compete for attention. The eye does not immediately know where to rest. And perhaps that is the point.

There was a time when too many intentions, emotions, and reflections existed all at once. Each one mattered. Each one had weight. But together, they became overwhelming. This painting holds that truth without apology.

Emotional Density and the Absence of Pause

The background of The Orbs is rich and expressive, but it offers very little breathing space. Everything feels important. Nothing is quiet.

For a long time, I thought this was a flaw. Now I understand it differently. It is not wrong—it is emotionally dense.

This painting was created before I fully learned the lesson of waiting. Before I learned that not everything needs to be said at once. The absence of pause mirrors a season when rest was still difficult, even after the world reopened.

In many ways, The Orbs echoes the lesson I later wrote about—patience. It shows what happens when life moves faster than our ability to process it.

The Figure at the Center

The woman in the painting is clear to me. Her gesture, her posture, her direction—they are intentional. She reaches while holding something precious. She does not abandon what sustains her as she moves forward.

What feels unresolved is not her, but the space around her. The orbs feel like thoughts, memories, prayers, and questions that have not yet settled. They hover. They remain present.

This is not a compositional failure. It is a psychological truth captured honestly.

Why I Could Not Let This Painting Go

I kept The Orbs because it holds a moment when judgment, emotion, and intuition collided. It documents a time when clarity had not yet arrived—but movement continued anyway.

The painting has never been sold. Perhaps others sense what I sense—that it is unresolved, imperfect, even uncomfortable. And yet, it remains with me.

It is less an error and more a witness.

Why The Orbs Belongs in This Series

In the context of Lessons from the Canvas, The Orbs quietly support everything I have come to believe:

It shows what happens when we act before everything has thoroughly dried.

It embodies the discomfort of sitting with imperfect outcomes.
It reminds us that not all works are meant to be resolved—some are meant to teach.

In art therapy language, this painting is not asking to be corrected.
"It is asking to be observed without judgment."

And perhaps that is the hardest lesson of all—not just in art, but in life.

Author’s Note

I write this reflection at a season when I am learning to slow down—to listen more carefully to both my art and my life. Returning to the canvas has reminded me that not everything needs to be resolved immediately, and that some lessons arrive only when we allow ourselves to pause. Through these writings, I hope to share not answers, but honest moments—where art becomes a quiet companion in understanding patience, imperfection, and grace.